


Dickbutt

by phenoob



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Ficlet, Gen, Inappropriate Humor, Mild Language, just barely
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-10
Updated: 2020-09-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:08:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26396923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phenoob/pseuds/phenoob
Summary: Picard has a message for Nechayev. (warning: crack)
Kudos: 6





	Dickbutt

**Author's Note:**

> warning, for those who are not familiar with the 'Dickbutt' meme this will probably not make sense. (Not that it does anyway ;p)

"And you mean to tell me, Counselor, that my psychological recovery depends on relaying this puerile symbol to Starfleet Command?"

"All I said was that it might help," Troi said, still smiling conspiratorially. "After all, Admiral Nechayev is partially responsible for your capture by the Cardassians ..."

Picard hardly needed to be reminded of that.

"... and with all due respect, Captain, I can still sense your resentment toward her. Normally, I would discourage acting on vengeful impulses as a coping mechanism, but I think in this case a harmless display of irreverence could be cathartic."

Picard rubbed his chin, looking thoughtfully at the image on the ready room terminal's display. "Very well, I'll consider it. Dismissed."

Alone, Picard turned his gaze to his fish tank as he reflected on how temperamental Troi's empathic powers could be. Several conspiracies had unfolded aboard the Enterprise without her detecting so much as a whiff of deception. Now, however, Troi had pinpointed the exact words for what Picard wanted: to display irreverence to Admiral Nechayev.

There were pragmatic considerations, of course. It was taboo to send something so openly impolite to a senior officer. After Picard's traumatic experience with Gul Madred, Starfleet might even see it as a sign of mental instability, declare him unfit for command. No, it would not do to send the symbol directly.

"Mr. La Forge, Mr. Data, report to my ready room," Picard said to his communicator. He had a plan.

\-----

It was 0600 hours. The sun was just peeking from behind the San Francisco skyline when Nechayev settled down at her desk, opening her mail terminal.

Another debriefing on Borg technology at 0900 ... proceedings from a 17th ammendment to the Khitomer Accords ... a low-priority message, from ...

Nechayev nearly choked on her coffee. No message from _Captain Picard_ was low-priority. After what happened at the Cardassian base, she figured it would take nothing less dire than the Sun going supernova for Picard to initiate communications with Starfleet Command. This had to be a front for a matter requiring the utmost discretion. She opened the message.

It looked like a string of random letters in a variety of languages both human and alien. Not an encryption technique Nechayev immediately recognized, but she would do her best to decipher it herself. Failing that, she would have to bring it to Starfleet Intelligence.

Ah, Jean-Luc Picard. What had he gotten himself into now?

\-----

The conference room looked more like a funeral reception as Nechayev looked out from her lectern. Admirals, commodores, motley ranks of intelligence officers and the odd Daystrom researcher sat around the table, dull-eyed and haggard. Even the two Vulcans slumped in their seats.

She knew how they felt. A month ago, Nechayev received an encrypted message, one that Captain Picard repeatedly denied sending. It was hell ever since. And hell swallowed up far more hours, resources and people than Nechayev ever anticipated. She was beginning to think it was too late to deal with whatever trouble was behind the message, until ...

"You all know why we're here," Nechayev began, switching on the presentation board. "Professor T'Rel, Commodore Wei and I had a late night testing some of our last proceedings. We decrypted Picard's message. Our methods are all in the report, if any of you wishes to inspect them."

Too exhausted to spin a good introductory remark, she displayed the image without warning.

"Now. What do you all make of _this?_ "

Dead silence. Even the construction work outside fell silent. The room may as well have been a frozen holographic program.

...

"It appears to be Dickbutt, Admiral."

All eyes shot to Vorak, the Vulcan linguistics specialist. Nechayev took the liberty of breaking the next excruciating silence.

"Yes, er ... I suppose that's an apt name for it, but what does that--"

"One of my prior specialties is 21st century Earth history, as you may know. I am referring to an icon from the popular culture of that era. Dickbutt ..."

A faint ripple went through the room as everyone suppressed a cringe.

"... was a symbol frequently shared across Internet social networks."

"What does it mean?" someone dared.

"Its intrinsic meaning is minimal--except to depict an anthropomorphized penis with a second penis projecting from its rectal cavity, of course."

There was more than a ripple this time, as some groaned, others rested their faces in their palms and Nechayev herself leaned heavily on the lectern.

"However, due to the indecent nature of the image, it was often used to display irreverence. It featured in a recurring comedic narrative."

"And what, dare I ask, was that?" someone else said, all formality long-since out the window.

"Typically, one party sends another what they purport to be an important message," Vorak explained, and creeping dread filled the conference room as everyone braced for impact.

"Once received ... the message is revealed to be Dickbutt."

The meeting devolved into chaos. The other Vulcan closed her eyes and mouthed what was probably a meditative mantra. Most of the Daystrom lecturers burst into laughter that could have been mistaken for cries of pain. Two intelligence officers seemed to be locked in a despairing embrace.

Nechayev could be very, very loud when needed. It was a little-known gift for which the present situation made her especially thankful.

"SILENCE!"

The room was back to its 'frozen program' state, guilty eyes fixed on Nechayev.

"Thank you. The meeting hasn't been adjourned, just yet. Let's not lose sight of the most important matter: what to do about Picard."

An intelligence officer looked at Nechayev expectantly. "I guess that's your call, isn't it? Most of us are with Intelligence, or even civilians, and none of the rest outrank you."

"Indeed," Nechayev said, her voice disturbingly calm.

"But I could use some input from my colleagues in Starfleet Command. Would it be more convenient to schedule his court-martial for Wednesday, or Friday?"


End file.
